Lovers in Paris by Allie Hayden

Author:Allie Hayden
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-10-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

(Cecilia)

In the morning, we checked out of the hotel, and faithful old Thierry was there to drive us, peaked cap and all; we decided to spend the remainder of the week relaxing, preparing for what would probably turn out to be a busy week.

And all week, I spent every evening playing for Darius as he wrote furiously. Darius, it turned out, wrote almost exclusively at night, and so playing for him in the cabin was a very beautiful experience, a grand relaxation after a long day of practice.

When I practiced, I worked for hours. I had a work ethic that had been developed over many years, of working small sections over and over again until it was exactly perfect.

This method was perfectly effective for me, and I developed a thorough understanding of the Dvorak Cello Concerto that I knew would be new and effective.

In fact, one of the hazards of playing a work that was such a standard for the instrument’s repertoire was that something new had to be said in it, lest it sound pedantic and predictable. At certain points in the practice sessions, I felt a little bit stumped.

And at the same time, Michael called me several times after we returned to Le Castellet and I was able to arrange some classes with him over FaceTime. With his help, I managed to get my technique back to where I wanted it to be and managed also to get the Dvorak Cello Concerto solidly back into my repertoire.

I played even the most difficult parts with ease thanks to his careful and patient teaching and found that when Darius was writing, it allowed me to relax into the playing in a way that nothing had ever helped me before. Darius was an admiring audience member, and I appreciated every movement he made and every look he gave me.

He asked me about my lessons with Michael with what I perceived might be a tinge of jealousy, but he was keenly aware of my presence, and I was keenly attuned to his mood. When he finished a section of his writing, he would often read it to me to make sure it was still true and real.

By Sunday evening, I was more than ready to rejoin the symphony as a lowly member of the ensemble, but also I had psyched myself up to be ready to take my place amongst the soloists and had prepared for the lunchtime meeting about my solos with the board and the conductor, Grigory Maranofsky.

I arrived at the rehearsal hall at ten in the morning, thanks to Thierry, and the rehearsal for our upcoming concert which would feature Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony and several new smaller works, along with a piano concerto featuring Igor Pogorelich.

Playing for these concerts was run of the mill for me, despite the brilliance of the soloists. I was used to it from my years in Minneapolis, and the biggest challenge was having to communicate in French, which was only a small learning curve.

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